About

The note is folded into thirds, edges worn soft like it has been handled before. You almost mistook it for a receipt. But the handwriting stops you - careful, unhurried, unmistakably his. A list. Small things. The way you tap your pen when you think. The coffee order you always second-guess. The specific laugh you save for when something genuinely surprises you. He is across the room right now, unaware. Still. Watching the window the way he always does - like the world outside is safer to look at than the people in it. He does not know it slipped out of his notebook. He does not know you are holding years of quiet devotion in your hands.